


Alternatively, More Sugar

by duplicity



Series: The Sugar Universe [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, this is an AU of an AU and that's how you know it's excellent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22535329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duplicity/pseuds/duplicity
Summary: Harry Potter only ever sees his elusive, handsome neighbour Tom Riddle when Tom wants to borrow a bit of sugar.The thing is, Tom doesn't take sugar with his coffee. Or his tea. Or anything else, for that matter—which begs the question: what, exactly, has Tom been doing with all that sugar?(Alternate version of 'Sugar, It's Cold Outside'.)
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Series: The Sugar Universe [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567627
Comments: 59
Kudos: 736





	1. Alternatively, More Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> this happened because user lovesreadingandmusic left [this comment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21679972/comments/278455687) on 'sugar, it's cold outside'. recommend you refresh yourself a bit on what happened in the original, because there are references here, but it's not fully needed to read this story.
> 
> epic portrayal of the pivotal sugar moment drawn by [Sakuragane_San](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakuragane_San) on instagram [here ❤️](https://www.instagram.com/p/B8FkCZDDXWT/)!!

Harry had only been living in his new flat for six months, a flat which happened to be next to the building’s most solitary tenant—a man named Tom Riddle, who was maybe a few years older than Harry. 

Tom kept odd hours, coming and going at all times of the day and night. He was always dressed in sharp, expensive suits, and Harry often saw Tom arguing in low, harsh whispers over the phone whenever they crossed paths in the corridor. It was hard to imagine what someone like that was doing living in a cheap flat like the ones in their building. 

“He’s just like that,” Hermione had said, when Harry raised concerns over their often-absent neighbour. “We’ve tried reaching out to him before, but he just doesn’t care to socialize.” 

But Harry, being the kind of person that he was, still tried to catch Tom’s eye in the corridors and offer the man a smile. And the friendliness seemed to work, somewhat, because sometimes Tom would knock on Harry’s door and ask politely for a bit of sugar.

Now, Harry had never thought to question exactly why Tom never had any sugar of his own. Tom was clearly a busy person with a demanding job, and far be it for Harry to judge someone for forgetting to stock their cabinets. It was unfortunate that Harry didn’t have much need for a lot of sugar himself, mostly because he never did a lot of cooking, and so he only kept a box of those little packets sitting on his cabinet shelf. Thankfully, Tom didn’t seem to care what form the sugar came in, so Harry counted himself lucky.

It also helped that Tom was extremely handsome, and that he always had a dazzling smile on whenever he happened to stop by Harry’s flat.

All in all, Harry wasn’t exactly sure why everyone thought Tom was so unfriendly. Tom was perfectly nice whenever Harry talked to him.

What was embarrassing, however, was that Harry had grown used to the sound of Tom’s knocks—three of them, each rap sharp and precise—to the point where it was a conditioned response to go grab the sugar _first_ , and then go and answer the door.

This pattern continued for some time, all the way up until one night Harry woke up, confused and still half-asleep, to the familiar noises of Tom Riddle knocking on his door.

* * *

Harry stumbled out of his room and through his kitchen, bumping his arm awkwardly against the cupboard as he yanked it open, fumbled blindly for a handful of sugar packets, and then progressed all the way through his living room and over to the door, which he opened up.

Tom was there, dressed impeccably, dark eyes shining as he smiled upon Harry. “Hello, Harry,” Tom said. And then he paused and blinked, brows shifting a bit as his gaze dropped down and back up again.

It was then that Harry remembered he had passed out on his bed last night wearing nothing but a towel.

“Sugar?” Harry squeaked, holding the packets out.

Tom licked his lips, the motion slow and unfairly tantalizing. “Thank you,” Tom said, his hand outstretched, and so Harry unceremoniously released the sugar into it.

“You’re welcome,” said Harry, his brain now operating purely on automatic.

“You dropped your phone, by the way,” Tom said.

Harry glanced at Tom’s hand, which was indeed holding his shabby mobile phone. “Thanks,” Harry said, self-conscious, a state of being which was worsened by the fact that he knew Tom’s phone was a sleeker, more expensive model.

“I was wondering,” Tom continued, phone still in hand, like there was nothing abnormal about talking to your neighbour, who was dressed in a towel, at five o’clock in the morning. “If I could give you my number. Since we _are_ neighbours, and you’ve been so very kind to me.”

It took a minute for Harry to unstick his brain from where it had joyfully leapt up and splattered itself against the inside of his skull. “Sure!” Harry said, voice too cheerful.

Tom smiled wider, eyes crinkling a little around the edges, and Harry wanted to frame this moment forever.

“Passcode?” Tom asked, turning the screen of Harry’s phone on.

“Zero-seven-thirty-one.”

There was a pause as Tom angled the phone up, presumably adding his number in. “Excellent,” Tom said once he was done, passing the mobile over at last.

“Thanks,” Harry said, and then he watched as Tom pulled out his own mobile phone. The screen lit up, displaying a new text message. Transfixed, Harry stood there until his own phone buzzed, and then he was forced to tear his gaze away from Tom to check the notification.

He had a new message. Numbly, Harry punched in his passcode and brought up the message screen. It was Tom, of course, because he must have sent a text to his phone from Harry’s, so that he could have Harry’s number.

While the message from Harry’s phone had simply read ‘Harry’, the message from Tom’s phone—the message he had sent to Harry—contained only the emoji of a wrapped sweet.

_Sugar,_ Harry’s brain supplied helpfully. _He’s making a reference to the sugar._

“How inconsiderate of me,” Tom said, interrupting Harry’s inner monologue. “You’re probably freezing to death, and I’m keeping you out here in the hallway. I’ll let you get back to your morning…”

Harry nodded, torn between not wanting the conversation to end, and being eager to escape the mortification of being caught undressed on his own doorstep.

“...but if you’d like, my door is open for some tea or coffee. Seems like the least I could do, given all the sugar you’ve loaned me.”

Harry’s heart stopped. Stopped full stop, stopped. He wasn’t even sure if he was breathing anymore, because that was how impactful those words were. Tom was asking him over for a morning cuppa. Tom was inviting him over. The crush that Harry had nursed for months on end was painfully apparent in the flush he could feel spreading across his cheeks and down his neck.

“O-okay,” Harry stuttered out, jerking his head in an approximation of a nod.

“Brilliant. I’ll leave my flat unlocked for you.”

Tom retreated, his door opening and shutting with a soft thump, leaving Harry alone once more.

After a minute, Harry wandered back into his flat, still feeling dazed. But he did not remain muddled for long, because the stupor was quickly replaced by a burgeoning sense of panic. He had to go get ready, go and make himself presentable. Had to get rid of this damn towel and maybe do something about his disastrous hair.

* * *

Once dressed in a maroon jumper and a pair of skinny jeans, Harry made his way over to Tom’s flat, which was flat 6S. He’d given up on his hair, because he’d fallen asleep with it damp, meaning that the only way to tame it now would be with copious amounts of hair gel, which Harry didn’t want to bother with. Besides, Tom had seen him on worse occasions and hardly batted an eye. This was nothing, especially after today’s towel debacle, which was probably the most distressing thing that had ever happened in Harry’s entire life.

Harry steeled himself and pushed through the unlocked door.

The flat was spacious, though that may have been because it was so sparsely decorated. A nice house plant would have made the place more homey. Then Harry noted, with some anxiety, that the living room was empty. He hoped that he had not just accidentally broken into the wrong flat.

Suppressing the urge to double-check the flat number on the door, Harry called out, “Tom? Are you here?”

“Was just in my bedroom, sorry.”

Tom emerged from behind a different door. He had also changed clothes; he was now dressed in a loose white t-shirt and grey jeans. This was the kind of outfit that ought to be illegal on someone as attractive as Tom, because the sight of those sharp collarbones and those broad shoulders made it too hard to focus on anything else.

“It’s fine,” Harry said.

“Did you want to sit down? I can make you a drink—” Tom’s invitation was cut off by the shrill sound of a phone ringing. A shadow fell over Tom’s face as he caught sight of the name on the display. “Sorry, Harry. I’ll have to take this,” Tom said, his eyes fixed on the screen of his phone, his tone distracted. “Please, feel free to help yourself in the kitchen. The tea things are in the top left cabinet.”

And then Tom turned around and went straight back into his bedroom, the door shutting behind him. Harry could still hear the muffled, irate conversation that was going on, even through the barrier of the wood. He felt rude for accidentally eavesdropping, so he headed into the kitchen as directed.

The top left cabinet was just above a coffee machine, one of the fancy ones that needed the pods. Balking for a moment, Harry eyed the gleaming piece of expensive machinery, apprehensive. Well, he’d known that Tom had money, and he supposed he shouldn’t let it get to him that much. Tom had given Harry his number, which meant he was interested, even if he _was_ out of Harry’s league.

Turning his attention to the cabinet, Harry reached up for the handle, and—

Sugar.

At first glance, it was unsurprising, because it was a cabinet, after all, and sugar was expected to be part of the cabinet’s contents. Only this—this was _sugar_. While Harry stared, a few loose packets of sugar tumbled out of their overflow and onto the counter below.

“Sorry about that, it was a work emergency. Harry, did you find everything—?”

Tom came to a full stop at the end of the kitchen, and—for some unfathomable reason—Harry tore his hand away from the cabinet handle like it was on fire, like he’d been caught red-handed with his hand in the cookie jar even though he hadn’t done anything other than _look._

But that look had betrayed what was an estimated six months’ worth of sugar packets sitting in Tom Riddle’s cupboard.

For a long minute, neither of them spoke.

Harry waited for Tom to offer some kind of explanation, but Tom remained tight lipped as he approached the counter, bypassing Harry’s frozen form as he reached for two pods of coffee and two mugs, popped one of the pods into the machine, and set one of the mugs underneath the nozzle.

Slowly, carefully, Harry scooped up the three packets that had landed on the countertop. And then he tried to place them back where they belonged, only it didn’t work, because there was nothing stopping the _other_ packets from falling out, and so the added weight only served to start a new avalanche of sugar.

Tom came over, gathered all the packets briskly into his hands, tossed the packets into the cupboard, and shut the cabinet firmly before anything else could escape. “Milk is in the fridge,” Tom said, unfazed.

Harry stepped over to the fridge and opened it up. Much to his relief, there was only one carton of milk inside. He pulled it out and set it down next to the coffee machine, which was now spitting out its second cup.

Normally, Harry took sugar with his coffee, but in this case he figured it was better to just not ask any questions.

“How much milk?” Tom asked, spoon in hand.

“Two spoons is fine,” Harry told him.

Tom stirred the milk in and pushed a mug over to Harry. Then he picked up his own mug—coffee, black—and walked over to the sink, where he dumped the used spoon into the dishwasher.

“Living room?”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Tom was already leaving the kitchen, and so Harry hurried to flee the scene of the crime as well.

They sat down on the leather couch, facing each other.

_Sooooo,_ said Harry’s brain. _Sugar, huh?_

Harry wished he could pull his phone out and text Ron about this, just so he could be sure that what was happening to him was, in fact, totally surreal and uncalled for in terms of what the universe owed him.

_Yes,_ said the universe, _let’s give Harry Potter a hot neighbour. Yes, let’s make them interested in each other! But also, let’s make their first proper meeting horribly awkward and uncomfortable._

“Did you want to watch a movie?” Tom asked into the silence. “I could get my laptop out.”

“Sure,” said Harry, relieved at having been excused the trouble of making small talk.

So Tom pulled out a sleek, space-grey laptop, logged in, and turned it over to Harry. “Here,” he said, smiling. “Why don’t you pick something, and—”

Tom’s phone rang _again,_ no less shrill than before, and Tom’s eyes closed in consternation, his brows pulling together.

“Excuse me a moment,” Tom said, voice full of false cheer. He got up and retreated to the bedroom again, though this time Harry heard the opening greeting of “What is it now, you idiot? I thought I made it _very clear_ that you were not to contact me on my day off the last time you called—”

Now in the clear to do whatever he wanted without being watched, Harry whipped out his phone and shot off a bunch of texts to Ron, who was probably still asleep but would definitely look at his phone whenever it was that he woke up.

Harry tried to convey everything that had happened as quickly as possible, which meant that autocorrect played a large part in the story. But his points had been made, and he managed to stow away his phone before Tom returned.

“Sorry about that,” Tom said, his manner once again pleasant as he walked back into the room. “What have you got for us to watch?”

Harry looked back at the laptop, winced, and hurriedly clicked on something at random. _The best movies are the ones on the front menu, right?_

* * *

The movie he’d chosen was a disaster. But Harry had been right about Tom being interested in him, because a while after they had eaten breakfast and made the much-dreaded small talk, things had gotten a little… frisky.

“Tell me, Harry,” Tom had said delicately. “Are you seeing anyone?” 

Harry had shaken his head mutely.

“Wonderful,” Tom had said, and then he had leant in for a kiss.

* * *

Much, much later, when Tom was in the shower and Harry was lounging around in the warm, comfortable bed, Harry’s phone lit up on the side table, and it was then that Harry remembered that he hadn’t checked for a response from Ron.

Rolling over to the left, Harry picked his phone up off the wooden surface and turned the screen on.

[11:24 AM] Ron: I knew it!!!!!! He likes you Harry!!!!

[11:24 AM] Ron: I mean he ignored the rest of us but he asks you for sugar so ofc he fucking fancies you

[11:26 AM] Ron: This is hilarious though I’m guessing you acted like nothing was wrong when all the sugar came pouring out of the cabinet

[1:48 PM] Ron: Okay but did you die???? Where are you!!

[3:16 PM] Ron: You better be dying or something because I’m about to knock on Riddle’s door and if you’re in the middle of fucking then he’s going to murder me and you’ll be out a best mate

Harry glanced up at the time on his phone. That last text had gone through maybe two minutes ago. 

_Wait,_ said Harry’s brain. _Two minutes ago? As in, two minutes before this moment right now?_

Horror washed over him. Harry struggled to untangle himself from the sheets, nearly falling flat on his face onto the floor. He wasn’t wearing any clothes, which was a problem, but the main problem was that his clothes were currently strewn all over Tom’s couch, which meant that they were, at the moment, very unaccessible.

Tugging the bedsheet loose, Harry wrapped himself up and ran for the door, hoping against hope that Tom was the type of person who took long showers.

Nearly tripping on his shoes as he jogged through the living room, Harry reached the door, grasped the doorknob, and wrenched it open just in time to see Ron ambling down the hallway.

Upon making eye contact, Ron paused, held his hand up in the air in the universal sign for ‘stop’, and then doubled over, laughing.

“Not funny,” Harry hissed, still winded from running to the door.

“You’re in a bed sheet,” Ron wheezed. “Are you trying to seduce me now, too?”

“No,” Harry said hotly.

“And to think I was worrying that Riddle murdered you,” Ron continued, tears in his eyes. “But really you’re just here getting—”

“Oh my god, Ron, if you finish that sentence, I swear—”

Just then, Tom’s voice echoed faintly from inside the flat. “Harry?”

“Give me a minute!” Harry called out, voice pitched about two octaves higher than normal due to his panic. “There’s just someone at the door!”

“Okay,” Ron said, wiping at his face. “I’ll just… leave you to it. You know. Be safe, use protection and all that.”

“I hate you,” Harry said, pouring forth whatever menace he could muster. “Die.”

Ron only smiled and waved as he left, whistling all the while.

Harry reluctantly shut the door and turned around. Tom was there in the living room, a towel tucked around his waist, and a towel in his hand as he dried his hair off.

“Who was it?” Tom asked.

“No one,” Harry said. “It was nothing.”

There was a pause, and then Tom added, “You can use the shower now, if you like.”

“Sure,” Harry said. “I’ll go and do that.”

But as Harry went to walk past, Tom caught him by the waist, pulling him close.

“I was wondering,” Tom asked, his hand warm where it rested on Harry’s hip. “Though it’s perhaps a bit forward of me to do so, but I was wondering if you had any plans for Christmas this year?”

All of Harry’s friends had already made plans with their respective families. Harry had expected to spend this Christmas on his own this year. “No,” Harry said. “Did you have plans?”

Tom looked pleased at the answer, his smile widening, his hand sliding further around and moving up Harry’s back, his fingers brushing against the spine. “I don’t, which leads me to my next question: Harry, would you like to spend Christmas with me?”

Harry was very aware of how close they were standing, and how flushed his face had probably become. “I’d like that a lot,” Harry said, nodding. “Christmas together.”

Tom hummed, pulling Harry even closer as he said, “The first of many, I should hope.” 

“First of many,” Harry repeated, and lifted himself up on his toes for another kiss.


	2. Art Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bonus art scene for this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> scene depicted below (exaggerated for comedic effect):
> 
> Tom came over, gathered all the packets briskly into his hands, tossed the packets into the cupboard, and shut the cabinet firmly before anything else could escape. “Milk is in the fridge,” Tom said, unfazed.
> 
> Harry stepped over to the fridge and opened it up. Much to his relief, there was only one carton of milk inside. He pulled it out and set it down next to the coffee machine, which was now spitting out its second cup.
> 
> Normally, Harry took sugar with his coffee, but in this case he figured it was better to just not ask any questions.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr [here](https://duplicitywrites.tumblr.com) if you like :)
> 
> feel free to join my personal discord server for my writing [here](https://discord.gg/BJRP4A5)!


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